I WILL be buried with this inscription over me: "Here lies C. L., the Woman-hater "-I mean that hated One Woman: for the rest, God bless them, and when He makes any more, make 'em prettier. Charles Lamb

HER INFINITE VARIETY

IN

"IN THE BEGINNING

N the beginning, when Twashtri came to the creation of woman, he found that he had exhausted his materials in the making of man, and that no solid elements were left.

In this dilemma, after profound meditation, he did as follows.

He took the rotundity of the moon, and the curves of creepers, and the clinging of tendrils, and the trembling of grass, and the slenderness of the reed, and the bloom of flowers, and the lightness of leaves, and the tapering of the elephant's trunk, and the glances of deer, and the clustering of rows of bees, and the joyous gaiety of sunbeams, and the weeping of clouds, and the fickleness of the winds, and the timidity of the hare, and the vanity of the peacock, and the softness of the parrot's bosom, and the hardness of adamant, and the sweetness of honey, and the cruelty of the tiger, and the warm glow of fire, and the coldness of snow, and the chattering of jays, and the cooing of the kókila, and the hypocrisy of the crane, and the fidelity of the chakrawáka; and compounding all these together, he made woman and gave her to man.

But after one week, man came to him, and said: "Lord, this creature that you have given me makes my life miserable. She chatters incessantly, and teases me beyond endurance, never leaving me alone and she requires incessant attention, and takes all my time up, and cries about nothing, and is always idle; and so I have come to give her back again, as I cannot live with her."

So Twashtri said: “Very well :" and he took her back. Then after another week, man came again to him, and said: "Lord, I find that my life is very lonely since I gave you back that creature. I remember how she used to dance and sing to me, and look at me out of the corner of her eye, and play with me, and cling to me; and her laughter was music, and she was beautiful to look at, and soft to touch: so give her back to me again."

So Twashtri said: "Very well:" and gave her back again.

Then after only three days, man came back to him again, and said: "Lord, I know not how it is; but after all, I have come to the conclusion that she is more of a trouble than a pleasure to me: so please take her back again."

But Twashtri said: "Out on you! Be off! I will have no more of this. You must manage how you can." Then man said: "But I cannot live with her." And Twashtri replied: "Neither could you live without her."

And he turned his back on man, and went on with his work.

Then man said: "What is to be done? for I cannot live either with or without her."

F. W. Bain

Erotion

I

THE BUDS

O, VERY beautiful are little girls,
And goodly to the sight.

J. G. Saxe

UND

NDERNEATH this greedy stone
Lies little sweet Erotion;

Whom the Fates, with hearts as cold,
Nipp'd away at six years old.

Thou, whoever thou may'st be,

That hast this small field after me,

Let the yearly rites be paid
To her little slender shade;
So shall no disease or jar

Hurt thy house, or chill thy Lar;

But this tomb here be alone

The only melancholy stone.

The World's Lily

THE

(The dying Becket speaks)

Leigh Hunt

`HERE was a little fair-hair'd Norman maid Lived in my mother's house: if Rosamund is The world's rose, as her name imports her, she Was the world's lily.

Tennyson

Louisa

I

MET Louisa in the shade;

And having seen that lovely maid,
Why should I fear to say

That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong;
And down the rocks can leap along,
Like rivulets in May?

And she hath smiles to earth unknown ;
Smiles, that with motion of their own
Do spread, and sink, and rise;
That come and go with endless play,
And ever, as they pass away,

Are hidden in her eyes.

She loves her fire, her cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;
And, when against the wind she strains,
Oh, might I kiss the mountain rains,
That sparkle on her cheek!

Take all that's mine "beneath the moon,"
If I with her but half a noon

May sit beneath the walls

Of some old cave, or mossy nook,

When up she winds along the brook
To hunt the waterfalls.

W. Wordsworth

Little Princess Anne

ANNE, third daughter to King Charles the First and

Queen Mary, was born at Saint James's, March 17, anno Domini 1637. She was a very Pregnant Lady